"Christ. Are they looking for him?"
"So Angus says. Hasn't there been anything on the news? I thought you might have heard something."
"Nup. Jeez. Do you think they'll tell people in the town if they don't catch him?"
"Don't know." I would have shrugged.
"What if he's still into setting dogs on fire? Shit. And those worms he used to try to get kids to eat. The locals'll go crazy." I could feel him shaking his head.
"I think they're keeping it quiet. Probably they think they can catch him."
"Do you think they'll catch him?"
"Ho. I couldn't say. He might be crazy, but he's clever. He wouldn't have got out in the first place if he hadn't been, and when he calls up he sounds sharp. Sharp but bonkers."
"You don't seem all that worried."
"I hope he makes it. I'd like to see him again. And I'd like to see him get all the way back here because… just because." I took a drink.
"Shit. I hope he doesn't cause any aggro."
"He might. That's all I'm worried about. He sounds like he might still not like dogs an awful lot. I think the kids are safe, though, all the same."
"How's he travelling? Has he told you how he's intendin" to get here? Has he any money?"
"He must have some to be making the phone calls, but he's stealing things mostly."
"God. Well, at least you can't lose remission for escaping from a loony bin."
"Ay," I said. The band came on then, a group of four punks from Inverness called the Vomits. The lead singer had a Mohican haircut and lots of chains and zips. He grabbed the microphone while the other three started thrashing their respective instruments and screamed:
"Ma gurl-fren's leff me an ah feel like a bum,<br>
Ah loss ma job an when ah wank ah can't cum…."
I nestled my shoulders against the pillar a little more firmly and sipped from my glass as Jamie's feet beat against my chest and the howling, crashing music thundered through the sweaty room. This sounded like it would be fun.
During the interval, while one of the barmen was taking a mop and bucket to the front of the stage where everybody had been spitting, I went up to the bar to get some more drinks.
"The usual?" said Duncan behind the bar, Jamie nodded. "And how's Frank?" Duncan asked, pulling a lager and a Heavy.
"OK. And yourself?" I said.
"Getting along, getting along, You still wanting bottles?"
"No, thanks. I've got enough for my home-brew now."
"We'll still see you in here, though, will we?"
"Oh, yes," I said. Duncan reached up to hand Jamie his pint and I took mine, putting the money down at the same time.
"Cheers, lads," Duncan said as we turned and went back to the pillar.
A few pints later, when the Vomits were doing their first encore, Jamie and I were up dancing, jumping up and down, J amie shouting and clapping his hands and dancing about on my shoulders. I don't mind dancing with girls when it's for Jamie, though one time with one tall lassie he wanted us both to go outside so he could kiss her. The thought of her tits pressed up against my face nearly made me throw up, and I had to disappoint him. Anyway, most of the punk girls don't smell of perfume and only a few wear skirts and even then they're usually leather ones. Jamie and I got pushed about a bit and nearly fell down a couple of times, but we survived through to the end of the night without any scrapes. Unfortunately, Jamie ended up talking to some woman, but I was too busy trying to breathe deeply and keep the far wall steady really to care.
"Yeah, I'm going to get a bike soon. Two-fifty, of course," Jamie was saying. I was half-listening. He was not going to get a bike because he wouldn't be able to reach the pedals, but I wouldn't have said anything even if I could have, because nobody expects people to tell the truth to women and, besides, that's what friends are for, as they say. The girl, when I could see her properly, was a rough-looking twenty, and had as many coats of paint over her eyes as a Roller gets on its doors. She smoked a horrible French cigarette.
"Ma mate's got a bike — Sue. It's a Suzuki 185GT her brother used tae have, but she's saving up fur a Gold Wing."
They were putting the chairs up on the tables and wiping up the mess and the cracked glasses and limp crisp-bags, and I still wasn't feeling too good. The girl sounded worse the more I listened to her. Her accent sounded horrible: west coast somewhere; Glasgow, I shouldn't wonder.
"Naw, I wouldn't have one of those. Too heavy. A five hundred would do me. I really fancy a Moto Guzzi, but I'm not sure about shaft drive…., Christ, I was about to do the Technicolor Yawn all over this girl's jacket, through the tears and rusting her zips and filling her pockets, and probably send Jamie flying across the room into the beer-crates under the speaker stacks with the first awful heave, and here were these two trading absurd biker fantasies.
"Want a fag?" the girl said, shoving a packet up past my nose towards Jamie. I was seeing trails and lights from the blue packet's passing even after she brought it back down. Jamie must have taken a cigarette even though I knew he didn't smoke, because I saw the lighter go up, igniting in front of my eyes in a shower of sparks like a fireworks display. I could almost feel my occipital lobe fusing. I thought of making some smart remark to Jamie about stunting his growth, but all lines to and from my brain seemed to be jammed with urgent messages coming from my guts. I could feel an awful churning going on down there, and I was sure it would only end one way, but I couldn't move. I was stuck there like a flying buttress between the floor and the pillar, and Jamie was still gibbering away to the girl about the sound a Triumph makes and the high-speed runs she'd done up the side of Loch Lomond at night.
"You on holiday, like?"
"Aye, me an" ma mates. Ah've got a boyfriend but he's oot on the rigs."
"Aw aye."
I was still breathing hard, trying to clear my head with oxygen. I didn't understand Jamie; he was half the size I was, half the weight or less, and no matter how much we drank together he never seemed to be affected. He certainly wasn't dumping his pints on the floor on the sly; I'd have got wet if he was. I realised that the girl had finally noticed me. She poked my shoulder for what I gradually comprehended wasn't the first time.
"Hey," she said.
"What?" I struggled.
"You all right?"
"Aye," I nodded slowly, hoping to content her with this, then looked away and up to one side as though I had just found something very interesting and important to look at on the ceiling. Jamie nudged fie with his feet. "What?" I said again, not trying to look at him.
"You staying here all night?"
"What?" I said. "No. How, are you ready? Right." I put my hands behind me to find the pillar, found it and pushed myself up, hoping my feet wouldn't slip on the beer-wet floor.
"Maybe you'd better let me down, Frank lad," Jamie said, nudging me hard. I looked sort of up and to the side again, as though at him, then nodded. I let my back slide down the pillar until I was virtually squatting on the floor. The girl helped Jamie jump down. His red hair and her blonde looked suddenly garish from that angle in the now brightly lit room. Duncan was coming closer with the brush and a big bucket, emptying ashtrays and mopping things. I struggled to get up, then felt Jamie and the girl take me one under each arm and help me. I was starting to get triple vision and wondering how you did that with only two eyes. I wasn't sure if they were talking to me or not.
I said, "Aye," just in case they were, then felt myself being led out into the fresh air through the fire exit. I needed to go to the toilet, and with every step I took there seemed to be more convulsions from my guts. I had this horrible vision of my body being made up almost completely of two equal-sized compartments, one holding piss and the other undigested beer, whisky, crisps, dry-roasted peanuts, spit, snot, bile and one or two bits of fish and potatoes. Some sick part of my mind suddenly thought of fried eggs lying thick with grease on a plate, surrounded with bacon, curled and scooped and holding little pools of fat, the outsides of the plate dotted with coagulated lumps of grease. I fought down the ghastly urge coming up from my stomach. I tried to think of nice things; then, when I couldn't think of any, I determined to concentrate on what was happening around me. We were outside the Arms, walking along the pavement past the Bank, Jamie on one side of me and the girl on the other. It was a cloudy night and cool, and the streetlights were sodium. We left the smell of the pub behind, and I tried to get some of the fresh air through my head. I was aware I was staggering slightly, lurching sporadically into Jamie or the girl, but there wasn't a great deal I could do about it; I felt rather like one of those ancient dinosaurs so huge that they had a virtually separate brain to control their back legs. I seemed to have a separate brain for each limb, but they'd all broken off diplomatic relations. I swayed and stumbled along as best I could, trusting to luck and the two people with me. Frankly, I didn't have much faith in either, Jamie being too small to stop me if I really started to topple, and the girl being a girl. Probably too weak; and, even if she wasn't, I expected she would just let me crack my skull on the pavement because women like to see men helpless.